


i will follow you into the dark

by sylwrites



Series: break free and run [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, College AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 23:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10627611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylwrites/pseuds/sylwrites
Summary: Bughead College AU.Midterms and movie night.





	

 

_ To other people, it sometimes seems like nothing at all. You are walking around with your head on fire and no one can see the flames. _

  
  


The mop drops into the wheeled bucket with a satisfying  _ plop.  _ Jughead grabs the handle and tugs both the mop and the bucket toward the back, looking over his shoulder at the spotless floor of the coffee shop.  _ Perfect.  _ He double checks the lock on the front door, then unties his apron and hangs it up in the back room on his way out.

 

Since late August he’d been working the night shift at Fresh Grounds, a local coffee shop about halfway between his apartment and Betty’s dorm. It was a lot, time-wise: juggling 25 hours of work a week plus school and writing (always) wasn’t easy, but somebody had to pay the bills. His dad worked irregularly while attending an outpatient rehab program, but Jughead didn’t want to rely on that. His tuition was paid for through a combination of scholarships and financial aid, but the apartment didn’t pay for itself and there were only so many free meals from Betty that Jughead could mooch without feeling terrible, so they probably needed groceries, too. Thus, the job. 

 

Plus, Jughead  _ liked  _ working. He’d worked in Riverdale too; first at the drive-in, then when that shut down, at Pop’s. It was nice to have money, even if he had to spend nearly all of it on bills immediately. The only bad part was staying up late writing papers and studying, instead of doing so during regular evening hours like many of his peers. He did as much of it between classes as possible, but there were only so many of those empty hours.

 

Jughead walks down the alley behind the coffee shop and turns right onto the main street. It’s ten p.m., dark, and the streets are fairly empty. He loves this time of day. It’s quiet, the air is cool (chilly, even - but then, it  _ is _ late October), and there’s a pleasant walk home ahead of him during which time he can process his day. There are a few people out - a couple running into a restaurant, an impatient man swearing into his cell phone nearby, and a slim girl about his age walking toward him. She’s got a giant scarf obscuring part of her face and has a beanie pulled over her hair, but as she walks under a street light Jughead can see that she’s a blonde, wearing dark leggings, carrying a grey backpack, and--

 

It’s Betty.

 

He can't help the smile that crosses his face. Jughead has no idea what she's doing out here at this time of night on a Tuesday, but she's got a couple of midterms coming up and has been studying a lot so he hasn't actually seen her in a few days, barring their shared criminology class. He hurries his steps so he'll reach her more quickly.

 

She doesn't notice he's in front of her until he's practically run into her, which immediately worries Jughead. It's not really an unsafe neighbourhood, but this is not Riverdale and shit just  _ happens  _ in larger cities. She shouldn't be wandering around in the dark without being attentive. Not someone like Betty, who is friendly to a fault and gives everyone the benefit of the doubt.

 

(Jughead knows that she can take care of herself. But he's seen the dark side of it all. He knows what even people with good hearts are capable of when they're faced with desperate enough circumstances.)

 

“Betty,” Jughead greets, reaching a hand out to steady her shoulder when they almost run into each other. “What are you doing here?” He peers closer at her. Betty's shoulders are slumped from the weight of the backpack and her eyes are sort of bloodshot - not in the way they get when she's been crying, but how they look after too little sleep. “Are you okay?”

 

“Juggie.” Betty looks startled for a moment, then recovers and smiles at him. “Glad I caught you. How was work?”

 

“Fine,” he says slowly. “What's going on, Betty?”

 

She hesitates. “I - um -  _ nothing,  _ really, I was just at the library studying for my midterm the day after tomorrow and I thought maybe you'd be done work, and I could walk you home. I haven't seen you in a few days.” Betty lifts a hand, drawing a fingernail between her teeth anxiously. 

 

Jughead reaches out to Betty, brushing a thumb underneath her eye. “Eyelash,” he explains when she looks at him curiously. “Betts, you look exhausted.” His fingers casually catch her hand on the way down, tugging it from her teeth. Slipping her hand in his, he suggests, “How about I walk  _ you  _ home instead?”

 

Betty doesn't fight the proposal, instead lacing her fingers through his and leaning her shoulder into him. “Kay,” she agrees. “Sorry. I just wanted to see you.”

 

“I'm glad you came. But next time just call me and I'll come over,” Jughead tells her. “I don't like you walking around here this late. We get weirdos sometimes.”

 

Betty doesn’t argue the point, to his surprise. Instead, she just nods and they walk in comfortable silence for a while, their joined hands swinging ever-so-slightly between them. It's relaxing, in a way; the air is cool on his face but her hand is warm in his, and that connection is the only thing that distracts him from the routine sounds of darkness that he craves. “When are your midterms?” she asks finally. 

 

“Had one today, another one day after tomorrow, paper due Monday,” Jughead recites with a bit of a sigh. “Paper is basically done, though. Just needs a couple edits.” 

 

“I don't know how you're doing it all  _ and  _ working at the coffee shop.” Betty squeezes his fingers. “And not freaking out about it. Not stressed.”

 

“I've gone totally crazy on the inside,” Jughead promises. “But you know me. Can't let stress ruin my stoic aesthetic.”

 

That earns him a giggle, then she sighs somewhat sadly. “I don't like not seeing you for days.” Her voice is quiet, a whisper carried on the evening breeze. “Especially… with everything.”

 

Jughead has a feeling that he knows what she means. Betty, as long as he's known her, has always been a little on edge. When they were little she used to call it “getting nervous”. He’d understood  _ that.  _ Of  _ course  _ Betty was nervous in the dark. Fear was a natural response to being alone with possible monsters under the bed. He got that. But Betty “got nervous” all the time - during recess, on weekends in Archie's backyard, during movies. He or Archie would try and make her laugh, and her face would relax, her hands would uncurl, and she'd smile again.

 

He imagined that it kept happening when they got older, but Betty quit talking about it. It wasn't until one snowy Saturday at Pop's when they were fourteen that she told him she'd gone to see someone. A doctor, she'd said,  _ psychologist.  _ Her mom had taken her, which had made Jughead's fingers tighten on the mug of hot chocolate he held. Her mom was well-meaning, he thought, clearly loved her daughters. But she had incredibly high expectations and was the opposite of the calm, relaxing presence that Jughead always tried to be for Betty. She'd been put on some medication, she’d said somewhat optimistically, and she didn't want everyone to know but he was her friend and she needed to tell someone.

 

Later, she'd confide in him when she stopped taking the pills too. They made her brain fuzzy and her fingers feel weird and put a sheen on everything that she didn't like. Her mom kept filling the prescriptions and she kept flushing the pills, but Betty wasn’t really any better this way either. Then he stepped in quietly, almost secretly, not wanting even Betty to realize his plan. But Jughead had always been an observer, paying more attention to people than they paid to him, and he used this to his advantage. Because  _ maybe  _ Betty just needed someone who made her as high a priority as she made everyone else. He learned her tics and triggers - warning signs like the subtle clench of her jaw, the worn half-moon dent that her nails had dug in her palms, the faint red lines on her neck and collarbone from compulsive scratching - and when they’d show themselves, he’d try to distract her.

 

She still hadn't called it what it was. She hadn't wanted to, and he got that. It made it real. It was the same reason he didn't talk about his family, about his mom leaving and his dad falling off the wagon and his little sister crying as their mom piled her into a car.

 

Even without the words, Jughead knew. As he became more familiar with her neuroses the word  _ anxiety  _ just came naturally, followed by  _ depression,  _ followed by  _ that  _ expression on her face: the one that scared him, that saddened him, that drew him even closer to her. It fascinated him, how she could reflect with just her eyes both the hopeless emptiness she felt and her crippling fear of it one day consuming her. Sometimes Jughead just had to poke her to bring her back, but other times he'd bring his arms around her and her tears would stain his shoulder, his hands rubbing her back until the tremble in her body dissipated and he could see in her face that it was gone. 

 

It always did leave, eventually, and Betty’s relieved smile was always worth it for him. 

 

Of course, Jughead acknowledged that what Betty had was a medical problem, just like any other. When she did finally find a dosage of a medication she was okay with he was initially ecstatic for her, but she explained to him that it was just  _ part  _ of what she called “management”. Not curing, not a fix-all, but a persistent and ongoing effort. All the work that was done on that was her - pure Betty, fighting for herself. Jughead liked to hope that, at the least, his support could make that work easier and not harder.

 

Still, he knows what she means now, when she's stressed and tired and overworked and misses him. They'd helped each other through some heavy shit over the years, and he wasn't going to stop holding up his end of it now. 

 

“The cafe is pretty quiet when I work nights,” Jughead says thoughtfully. “You could bring your stuff and study there - I'll keep you in coffee - and then when I'm done I can walk you home. I probably won’t be able to talk to you the whole time, but it’s a little bit more face time, at least.”

 

Betty looks over and smiles up at him. “Yeah? I won't be too distracting?”

 

“I think  _ I  _ would be the distracting one,” Jughead teases. “Have you  _ seen  _ me in my apron?”

 

“Yes, you look adorable.”

 

“I was hoping for something closer to devastatingly handsome,” he pouts jokingly, turning into the parking lot of Betty's building. 

 

Betty giggles and stops walking, turning to face him. “Definitely the hottest hipster barista at the place,” she reassures him, and Jughead grins in response. 

 

“That's a relief.”

 

Betty leans in for a hug, and Jughead obliges gladly. He notices for the millionth time that she fits so well with him, short where he is tall and soft and gentle where he is rough. “Come over Friday?” she asks, voice slightly muffled by the lining of his denim jacket.

 

“Sure. Movie night?” Jughead guesses, pressing his thumb into a knot on her back. 

 

“Yeah,” she breathes, pulling back. “God that feels good.”

 

“There's more where that came from,” he informs her, adjusting his backpack straps. “Friday.” He leans in automatically and kisses the corner of her mouth, an instinct that he’s chosen not to fight. It's chaste and quick and she can't even return it, but it's a promise. 

 

Betty is blushing again, though it's hard to tell under the dull parking lot lighting. She gives him a little wave and slips into the building. Jughead turns and starts the trek back, an even longer walk from this point than from the cafe. He still has a little bit of reading to do when he gets home, so he checks his phone for the time. 

 

The blinking light distracts him from the clock. She's already sent him a message.  **_Can't wait for Friday :)_ **

 

He texts back,  **_Me too_ ** , then slides it back in his pocket. It was gonna be a late night, but Betty was worth it every time.

 

\---

 

A few days pass and Jughead finds himself at the parking lot door of her building again, balancing a pizza box in one hand as he buzzes her and Veronica’s unit number. The long week is finally over, meaning that he and Betty’s midterms are done and the only thing hanging over his head are the final edits to a paper for the following Monday. He’s not too concerned about them, so as far as he’s concerned this is a Friday to celebrate.

 

And he has the best plans for that: pizza and a movie with Betty. He isn't totally sure if her roommate is going to be there, but even if she is Jughead doesn't really mind. Veronica is a bit overwhelming at times but she's nice and she's probably good for Betty. Despite Jughead's base instinct to Protect Betty Cooper, even he has to admit that being pushed out of one's comfort zone was necessary sometimes.

 

The buzzer sounds and Jughead pushes through the main door, then through the second door immediately to his right that led to the stairs. He takes it a couple of flights up to Betty and Veronica’s unit, and barely has a chance to knock once before Betty opens the door with a smile on her face. 

 

“Juggie!” 

 

“Hey Betts.” Jughead returns her smile and steps into the apartment. “You look ... comfy,” he says, glancing down at her outfit. She's wearing a short sleeved white t shirt with bright blue fleece pajama pants that have little white sheep printed across them. Her bare toes peek out from underneath the too-long hem of her pants, toenails painted an autumnal orange colour.

 

Betty’s cheeks flush pink briefly and she takes the pizza from Jughead’s hands. “Don’t say I don’t go all out for my guests,” she jokes.

 

“You’re sweeping me off my feet.”

 

“Good, so the plan is working then.” Betty sets the pizza box on the coffee table. “Can I get you a drink?” she asks as she walks toward the kitchen.

 

Jughead follows her and peers over her shoulder into the fridge. “Jeez, do you guys only drink diet soda?”

 

“There’s regular Coke back there from the last time you were here. Want it?” she asks, reaching to the back of the fridge.

 

Jughead nods and takes the can from Betty. “You’re missing out. Full-calorie soda is where all the sugary goodness is.” He cracks it open and takes a sip.  _ Ah. Hello caffeine, my old friend,  _ he thinks. “Refreshing.”

 

“Not everyone has your metabolism,” Betty says, grabbing a Diet Coke. “Some of us are watching our girlish figures.”

 

She’s laughing as the words come out but Jughead still hates it. This is another one of Alice Cooper’s neuroses, transferred to her daughters. Betty had always been really active, moreso than the average person. She was a decent athlete all around, participating on both the cheerleading squad and the track team. She’d even been a runner-up in the state cross-country championships in both junior and senior year. And sure, when hanging out at Pop’s they all ate burgers and milkshakes - they were teenagers. It was a  _ diner.  _ Betty was always very casual about it, but Jughead had been around Alice enough to have heard the comments about her daughter watching her weight. It probably pissed him off more than it should have, but it bothered him a lot, seeing the way Betty would sometimes ‘catch herself’ and push her half-eaten fries to the side or wrap her arms self-consciously around herself.

 

It wasn’t that Jughead didn’t understand the value of a balanced diet. Even  _ he  _ tried to eat vegetables once in a while. But this wasn’t about health, this was something else - just another thing that was pushed onto Betty’s shoulders as part of Alice’s neverending requirements for Cooper perfection. Be polite, be beautiful, be intelligent,  _ smile.  _ To some, they were the building blocks of a productive and well-rounded adult, but Jughead knew what it really was: a demand for perfection. And it was crushing Betty under its weight.

 

So he catches her hand as she walks by, stopping her briefly so he can slide an arm around her waist and press his nose against her temple affectionately. “Stop it,” he says quietly into her hair.

 

Betty doesn’t say anything, but she does lean against him and sort of half-nod into his neck, which Jughead counts as a win. She leads him back to the living room and they settle on the couch. They eat the pizza while watching  _ Scream,  _ and by the time they’ve finished their slices Betty is basically half in his lap, hiding her face in his shoulder.

 

It’s not the first time they’ve watched a horror movie together. Hell, it’s not even the first time they’ve watched  _ Scream  _ together. Jughead found it mildly amusing that even though she knew exactly what was going to happen, Betty was still scared. The first few times this had happened, Jughead had been mildly alarmed. He wasn’t exactly a fan of physical closeness. He barely wanted to talk to people - hugs made him panic.  _ Cuddling  _ wasn’t even on the table.

 

But like with most things, Betty was his exception. She’d snuck in under the gun, smelling like lavender and vanilla and breaking down his walls one day at a time until he found himself in this moment. His arm is around Betty, her hands are bunched up in his shirt as she hides from the screen, and he feels totally and completely okay with it. Anytime Betty wants or needs this, he’s more than willing. Even if it’s just for a scary movie.

 

“Betts, you know it’s Billy,” Jughead says as he strokes her arm absentmindedly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

“I  _ know,  _ but I still--  _ aiee!”  _ she shrieks, ducking her head again. One of her legs tangles with his as she scrambles to get even closer.

 

On screen, one of the characters is now sneaking out of a house after her boyfriend has been murdered by a deranged lunatic. Jughead just laughs at Betty and slides his arm from her shoulder to her waist, adjusting his grip so she can still lean close without falling backward. His other hand sits on her leg, which is swung over his lap, thumb rubbing the soft fleece covering her knee. He continues watching and is so busy bracing himself for the murder of yet another character ( _ poor Kenny,  _ Jughead thinks, the bastard never stood a chance) when the sudden opening of the door startles even him.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” a sing-song voice announces. Before Jughead can move a muscle, Veronica appears around the corner, swinging an expensive-looking purse from the crook of her arm. Jughead appraises her briefly, but it's generally difficult to tell what Veronica has been doing because she seems to always be dressed to the nines. Today is no different: burgundy dress, heels, pearls. Could be a date, could be cleaning the toilets.

 

Jughead locks eyes with Veronica and realizes that he and Betty probably look a bit comprised - her wrapped around him, his fingers pressed into her side, a blanket half-covering their knees. Even her hair is down, loose from its usual ponytail. He opens his mouth to explain but Betty beats him to it. 

 

“Hi V,” she says into Jughead’s neck. “Juggie, can you pause it?”

 

He leans forward obediently to grab the remote from where it sits next to the uneaten pizza slices on the coffee table and pauses the movie. Jughead waits for Betty to extricate herself from his grasp, but instead of moving away from him completely she just lifts her head and turns slightly toward Veronica, making no effort to slide off of his lap.

 

“How was your date, V?”

 

“He was incredibly dull.” Veronica plops down in an armchair. “Pass. What about you guys? Wait.” She suddenly sits straight and turns directly toward them, hands clutching the arms of the chair. “Am I interrupting? Do you want me to go? I have noise cancelling headphones in my room.”

 

Two years prior, Jughead, Betty and Archie had gone swimming down at Sweetwater River. He’d fallen asleep on the beach and awoken to skin the colour of a tomato, the burn radiating out of him like fire. And including that day, Jughead doesn’t think his face has ever been as hot as it is in this moment. Even his fingertips look red, he observes briefly as he tries to remember how to form words with his mouth.

 

“No, stay!” Betty just chirps, smiling at Veronica and then relaxing further into Jughead’s body, her head dropping to his shoulder again. “We’re just watching  _ Scream.”  _

 

“Ooh.” Veronica turns to angle herself toward the TV. “Where are you? Wait - okay. So Kenny just got killed. Alright. Hit it, J.”

 

Jughead presses play, briefly distracted by the new nickname ( _ J  _ was a new one, but with a name like Forsythe beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers). It was a good thing that he’d seen  _ Scream  _ multiple times, because from that point forward Jughead could barely pay attention to the TV. The only thing that he could focus on was Betty: the softness of her pajama pants against his wrist, the curve of her waist under his hand, that faint hint of vanilla. She’d been so casual with Veronica, cuddling closer to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

Maybe it was, Jughead realizes, slipping one of his hands into hers beneath the blanket. Out of habit, he presses his thumb into the scars on her palms and is startled to feel that the grooves are deeper than usual.  _ Fuck.  _ Jughead doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it - Veronica is there, and it’s also just not usually  _ helpful -  _ but his heart breaks a little for Betty anyway, and he vows to speak to her later if there’s an opportunity. There’s a new tension in her body, undoubtedly from his touch on her hands. In response, he turns slightly and places what he hopes is a discrete kiss on her shoulder, stroking the side of her waist with his other hand.

 

Eventually, the movie ends, and Betty finally climbs off of Jughead to use the bathroom. Veronica is giving him a pointed look but he’s too tired to decipher it so ignores her and lays down on the couch instead. Betty returns and plops down at the end of the couch, lifting his feet into her lap. Jughead listens to her and Veronica gush over how attractive Skeet Ulrich was in the ‘90s, despite the whole Billy-was-the-murderer thing. The conversation eventually devolves into a broader discussion of ‘90s heartthrobs, Veronica’s obsession with Jared Leto, and finally further details of Veronica’s date before Jughead stops even trying to pay attention and lets his heavy eyelids close.

 

\--

 

Jughead wakes up twice. The first time, he’s awake only long enough to realize that it’s 4:00am and he’s fallen asleep on Betty’s couch, then immediately passes out again. The second and final time, though, his alarm clock is Veronica’s voice. Her attempt at hushed and quiet is an utter failure, but his body is tired enough that Jughead doesn’t want to move quite yet, so he lays there with his face buried in a pillow.

 

He’s only half-listening until he hears his own name. The girls are in the kitchen, so the sound is sort of muffled, but he hears “-- so sweet, the way Jughead looks at you; seriously, Betty, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen” and now he’s  _ definitely  _ paying attention. Betty’s response is too quiet for him to hear, but Veronica doesn’t seem to have volume control so when she says, “Of course he does, Betts, you were basically on top of him”, it’s clear as day.

 

Now Jughead’s torn: he wants to hear more of this conversation, but it feels an awful lot like eavesdropping even though it had initially been unintentional. So he begins to make noise, shifting around on the couch and yawning loudly, before ultimately sitting up and grabbing his phone. 

 

“Betty?” he calls sleepily, as though he has no idea where she possibly could be.

 

She appears around the corner from the kitchenette, still in her pajamas. “Morning, sleepyhead. I texted your Dad that you slept over. Come in here, we’ve got coffee.”

 

He nods, then points toward the bathroom to indicate his first stop. Jughead uses the facilities and then adjusts his beanie in the mirror, hoping his morning breath isn’t too noticeable. When he gets to the kitchen he’s shocked to see Veronica also wearing pajamas. It must be evident on his face, because Betty pushes a mug of coffee into his hand and giggles.

 

“I thought you slept in pearls,” he blurts.

 

Veronica grins widely. “Not on weekends.”

 

Jughead’s phone has one message on it, a text from his father that just reads  **_see if you can take home some pancakes_ ** . He shows Betty, who gives him a sly smile and opens the fridge to reveal a little doggy bag of breakfast food already prepared for him. She then shows him her phone, which bears a similar message, although in Betty’s it’s very clearly a joke. Of course, Betty being Betty, she’d taken it upon herself to actually fulfill the request.

 

Jughead scratches his neck and sits down at the kitchen table. “I don’t know how I feel about my dad texting you breakfast orders.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Betty says cheerfully, and  _ of course  _ she doesn’t. She’s Betty. Jughead just shakes his head and sips his coffee, leaning back a little as she places a small stack of pancakes in front of him, then Veronica. She brings her own serving with her when she comes with the syrup, sliding into the chair between the two of them.

 

Veronica chews a bite of food thoughtfully, then sets her fork down and looks at Jughead with a twinkle in her eye. “So Jughead … sleep well?”

 

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Fine,” he answers slowly.

 

“Sorry our couch is so lumpy. You should really just share with Betty next time.”

 

“Veronica!” Betty exclaims, lightly pushing at her friend’s arm. Her face is beet red when Jughead looks over at her, confused. She’s got a weird expression on her face, obvious discomfort mixed with … a smile?

 

Veronica just shrugs nonchalantly and picks up her fork again. “Just saying. Didn’t seem like either of you were concerned about personal space last -  _ ow!” _

 

Betty is glaring at Veronica, furious embarrassment in her eyes. To her credit, Veronica just flashes a sweet smile in return. Jughead watches the exchange with great interest, one half of him hopelessly confused and the other half intrigued. He’d known Betty for a long time, but for most of that she’d mainly been friends with boys. Girls seemed to have an unspoken language made up entirely of facial expressions.

 

It was sort of terrifying.

 

Jughead decides his best option is to ignore everyone, so he pours his energy into eating the pancakes in front of him. Betty and Veronica seem to still be having some kind of wordless conversation that may or may not involve him, so he gets through his stack and three of the extras in the time it takes both girls to finish one.

 

“I better get back to my Dad,” Jughead finally says, breaking the confusing silence in the room. “Thanks for letting me crash, Betty. You too, Veronica.”

 

Betty stands with him, still sort of glaring at Veronica. “I’ll walk you to the door. Don’t forget your dad’s food.” 

 

He grabs it and his jacket, shrugging into the latter while pushing his feet into his boots. “Thanks, Betts,” Jughead says again, giving her a hug.

 

“Sorry about Veronica,” Betty mutters over his shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed again when they pull apart, and Jughead frowns curiously.

 

There was an obvious answer to his utter confusion, but it seemed too unrealistic. Still, like most writers, Jughead considers himself something of an amateur anthropologist, and he figures now is as good a time as any to test a hypothesis about human behaviour. So when his hand is on the doorknob, ready to go, Jughead smirks at Betty. “No problem,” he tells her breezily. Then, he winks at her. “But hey, maybe she has a point.” 

 

Betty’s face breaks into a wide smile that she instantly tries to restrain. Her eyes drop to the floor and then back to his in the span of a second, and she’s still blushing.

 

Jughead gives her a little wave and then disappears into the hallway. He leans his head against the back of the door once it closes and stares at the ceiling in disbelief for a moment.

 

_ Holy shit,  _ he thinks.

 

She  _ likes  _ him.

 

Jughead tries to wrestle his mind back to a level point, just in case he’s wrong. He’d figured out years ago that management of his own expectations was critical to his own happiness. He was often his own worst enemy, after all. But as he thunders down Betty’s apartment stairs and out into the rainy Saturday morning, it seems like every one of his emotional defenses is failing. The stars are lining up, the pieces clicking into place. It made the most sense. It was  _ logical,  _ the conclusion, even if nothing about his current feelings was.

  
He glides home on metaphorical pixie dust, feeling like a character in a fucking Nora Ephron movie, and for the first time in his life Jughead thinks he might finally understand what all of the fuss is about.

 

**fin**


End file.
